Out of My Mind
by TheAwesomeFrancisBraginsky
Summary: Italy has a secret. A messy one. No one had to know, until that idiot bastard walked in o him. Now the secret is out, and more blood will be spilt to try and get it back in. ((This is my first ever fanfiction. Lots of critics lots of love! Rated M for language, gore, and possible (hopeful) psychological trauma-if to no one else but the author writing it.))
1. Chapter 1

"W-why?" sobbed the strangled voice of the broken woman below him. He traced the trail of her tear with the tip of his blood stained knife as another traveled down her cut and bleeding face. _Dio, I hate that question. Why won't she just _shut up_? _At the thought, he plunged the knife quickly into her throat, resulting in a hollow gurgle from his victim as all blood flooded her lungs. He watched closely as the last bits of life left her eyes. He stood and took a few steps back to admire his work.

Across her bare chest he had carved a picture of white and red. A forest of treetops traveled up her abdomen on either side of the winding crimson river that started at the peak of her hills and wound through a valley of poppies.

He smiled appreciatively at his work before shedding his blood stained clothing in favor of the cleaner ones beneath. He stashed his knife within his pocket and started the journey back to his hotel room- a skip in his step and a tune on his tongue.

"Italy, vake up!" A stern voice with a strong german accent brought him from his daydreams.

"Ve~ But _Doitsu~_ I'm so tired!" Italy whined. _Can it you blond pile of muscle, I need some sleep._

"You can sleep after the meeting! England is speaking!"

_Dannazione. _"Ve~..."He pouted and sat up a bit and view the other countries from the cracks of his eyelids. Nothing ever really changed at the meetings. No one paid real attention to anyone's words but their own, and nothing ever got done. _Why can't they just shut up? If only I could put a knife in their throats. Then they'd be quiet, and I could get some sleep._

_**Why can't you?**_

_There's too many of them. They'd find out._

_**Please. Who'd suspect poor, weak, little you? **_

A voice rang through the turmoil of the room, calling the meeting to a close. _Finally. _Italy hoped out of his chair. _I can barely spend an hour with these idioti, let alone a week. _He pranced along behind Germany, a stupid smile plastered across his face as chittered happily about pasta, and England's eyebrows, and whatever other innocent thought that popped into his head.

Before long, he was back in his home in Milan, but not for long. He changed his clothes and grabbed his favourite knife. Romano was out with Spain tonight, so he had plenty of free time. _I think it's time I pay old Switzy a visit. _He smiled to himself and skipped out the door.

_Bastardo pomodoro idiota! Why would I want to hang out with those idioti friends of his? _Romano banged open the door to the house he shared with his brother. _Not that I was looking forward to our date-It wasn't a date!-but that doesn't mean he can invite those bastardi to come along with us. Idiota! Idiota! Idiota! _He stomped through the house. _Where's my fratello idiota? _A muffled scream startled him from his thoughts. He quieted his footsteps, moving cautiously towards the source of the noise as another rang through. "Fratello?" He open the basement door and tiptoed down the stairs, now able to distinguish the sound of sobbing and tittering laughter.

"Don't cry~ You're going to look so pretty~!"

Romano paled at the sound of his brother's voice. When he reached the bottom of the stairs he froze.

Italy sat straddling a young blond man whose fearful blue eyes were wide and wet with tears. Across his bare torso was the image of a fowl drinking from a deep red lake with tall cattails dusting the edges.

"Don't you want to pretty~?" the Italian asked cheerfully, pricking his cheek and eliciting a small whimper. "Your eyes are very pretty~" he touched the tip of the blade to the corner of the man's eye. Giggling at the trembling figure, he sunk it in, popping the eye from its socket and detaching it from the nerves that held it. "See~?" He held the man's eye up for him to see. He promptly lost what little grip on consciousness he had left. "Tsk," Italy dropped the eye. "You're no fun." He stood, slitting the man's throat and leaving him to bleed to death on the blood soaked stone floor.

Romano stood at the base of the stairs, watching everything as it transpired, trembling as much as the man his brother had killed. HE wanted to cal out, to stop him, to run away; but all he could do was stand there, pale and wide eyed, and stare as it happened.

Italy turned around, a twisted smile on his blood spattered face. When he saw his brother, he froze. _What's he doing here? Why isn't he with Spagna? How much did he see? _The thought's raced through his head. He quickly replaced his usual stupid grin on his face and skipped towards him, trying to cover himself, but it was too late. He was caught.


	2. Chapter 2

Romano tripped backwards up the stairs, away from his blood soaked brother.

"Ve~ What's the matter fratello? You don't look so good." He came closer, twiddling with the knife he held behind his back. The elder stumbled backwards up the stairs, before turning and running haphazardly through the door. Italy tsked and gave chase, following closely behind. Italy stopped in the middle of their living room. Taking aim, he sent his knife flying. Just as Romano reached the front door, something hit his back with a dull thud. He reached behind him and felt the handle of a knife jutting out. His vision blurred as he slid to the floor. One question echoed through his mind as the darkness overcame him: _Why? _

Italy walked calmly towards the dead half-nation. _Fratello idiota. You were supposed to be with Spagna. Why were you home? _He pulled the knife from his brother's back and wiped it clean on his shirt. _He's going to feel that when he wakes up. I must have punctured a lung. _He grunted as he dragged the body down to the basement. Why are you so fucking heavy? He leaned the his dead sibling against the wall .

"You've been eating too many of Spagna's churros, fratello. You're getting fat." He chuckled dryly and pushed aside several boxes that were stacked against the wall, revealing a sturdy iron door. The door led to a small concrete room furnished with a single cot. He laid Romano on the bed and handcuffed his wrists to either post of the headboard. He looked over his older brother, sighing, when the ring of a phone came from upstairs. He glanced him over once more.

"Sogni dolci, fratello~"

He made his way to the phone, locking the door behind him. Picking it up on the fourth ring, he answered in his happy facade. "Ciao~!"

"Hallo, Italy."

"Ve~! Doitsu~! How are you doing~?"

"I am gut, danke. Japan is making dinner at my house and vanted to know if you vould like to come."

"Si~! I'd love to~!"

"I vill see you soon then. Auf wiedersehen."

"Ciao, Doitsu~!" He hung up, his false smile slipping away as he went upstairs to change once more out of his blood stained clothes.

Within the hour Italy was skipping through the german's door and sneaking through his house to find him in the dining room, setting the table. He tiptoed behind him and wrapped his arms around Germany's firm waist, snuggling against his back. He felt the other stiffen, then relax.

"Hallo, Italy." He removed the slighter nation's arms and turned around. There was warmth in those ice-blue eyes as he looked almost lovingly at the other. The Italian wrapped his arms around the taller nation's neck. Lifting himself almost off the ground, he kissed each cheek. They became dusted with a light shade of pink as he smiled up at the blond.

"Konnichi wa, Itary-san." Japan entered from the kitchen, hoisting several platters of food onto the table.

"Japan~! Ve~ That smells yummy! I'm so hungry~!" Italy clamored, everyone taking a seat. He watched his dining companions as they all ate. Several times throughout the meal he caught Germany glancing his way, only to have the stern country look away with progressively warmer cheeks. "Doitsu~, your face is all red. Are you getting sick?" He asked in a worried tone.

"N-no, I am fine," He looked down flustered at his plate.

"Okay~..." He continued eating. Really. It's almost too easy messing with him anymore. The rest of dinner passed by with little conversation. Italy's constant chatter broken only by the occasional odd comment from Japan.

"Danke for the food, Japan. It was delicious."

"Okagesamade, Germany-san," He bowed slightly, taking his leave. "Sayonara."

The door clicked shut and Germany went to find the sleeping Italian on his couch. Sighing softly, he took him upstairs to the guest room.

"I don't know how you a able to sleep so much." He chided, laying the sleeping figure on the be. He watched him for a minute. The gentle rise and fall of his chest and the ever-present smile on his face. As he turned to walk away, a small hand grasp his own. Looking back, he saw that Italy had reached out in his sleep to take his hand. Sighing again, with the smallest smile, Germany lifted the covers and laid himself on the bed beside the Italian. He allowed the other to snuggle against him as he joined him in his slumber.

Half an hour later, Italy cracked open one eye. He noted the other's deep, calms breathes and decided that he was fully asleep. Sitting up carefully, Italy exited the bed without shifting the covers and tiptoed his way through the house and out the front door, twisting the knob as he shut it so as to avoid a clicking that would sure awaken his light-sleeping acquaintance. I wonder how my fratello idiota is doing? He thought, boarding the train back home.

"Roma~! I'm home~!" He called out as he opened the door to his house and leisurely walked to where Romano was hidden. He unlocked the door and stepped inside before locking it again behind him. His brother glared up at him from the small cot. Romano tried to keep the fear from his eyes, but behind his bravado it still flickered, strong as before. "You're not mad at me, are you?" Italy asked with mock innocence.

"What do you think, bastardo?" he spat.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk. It's your own fault. You didn't have to come home when you did. really, this whole scenario can be blamed on your poor timing." Italy chided mockingly as he came to stand beside the bed. Romano unconsciously moved his body away from the other, mentally kicking himself when he caught the action.

"It's your damn fault! Why on Earth were you... Why did you kill that man?"

"Because it's fun!" He said happily.

"...f-fun...?" Romano was taken aback. They were countries, they were used to the death that came with the inevitable wars between them, but to think it was fun... that was... that was sadistic... inhuman... that was just... wrong. Italy giggled at his brother's reaction, snapping him quickly back to reality.

"How could you think that... that...is fun?"

"Because it is. Seeing all the different faces and sounds. At first some of the will try and act all tough, but in the end everyone everyone cries and begs for their life. Although... some of the weaker ones actually beg for their death. They don't fight at all, and it's very boring. When that happens, the only thing you can do is kill them slowly so you can watch what little life they have left slip from their eyes. Oh! The very very best part is the feel of the knife in your hand and the slight resistance of the skin as you slice through veins and bring the beautiful red blood to the surface. I find it the perfect paint for drawing pretty pictures. You should try it, fratello! I think you would really like it!" He cried happily. Romano just stared at him in shock, his eyes wide in shock. Italy pulled out a knife from his pocket and placed it in his brothers hand, holding his arm just within reach. "Try it~!"

He gripped the knife limply in his hand, just staring. After a moment, he tightened his grip and pushed the knife down with as much force as he was able in his restrained position. The blade sunk deep into his brother's arm, but Italy didn't even blink. In fact, his smile grew wider.

"See~? Isn't that fun~? Try some more!"

Romano's eye's widened further and his grip went slack, the fear in his eyes shining brighter than ever. Italy held his arm out for a minute more, waiting for him to pick up the knife again. When nothing happened, he pulled his arm back and calmly removed the knife and wiping it on his brother's shirt. Romano winced away from the blade as it came near his skin.

"I'm sorry, fratello. Your shirt is already dirty, and I've wasted so many of mine, I'd rather not ruin another one." He explained, replacing the knife in his pocket. He smiled back down at his brother. "Well, it's getting late, and I'm really tired." He yawned, as if to prove his point. Walking to the door, he unlocked it.

"W-wait! You can just leave me here!"

"Of course I can. I don't want you running free and telling everyone my little secret. Bouna notte, fratello~!" He stepped out the door, closing it to the string of curses and locking it again. Looking down at his arm, he saw that it was already mostly healed. Fratello idiota, that almost hurt. Rubbing his injured arm, he climbed into bed. "Maybe tomorrow we'll be able to have more fun..."


	3. Chapter 3

The next morning, Italy woke to the sound of the phone. _Well aren't I popular lately_. He thought as he picked up the phone.

"Ciao~!" He answered.

"Hola, Italia!"

"Spagna! How are you~?"

"I'm fine. Um, Roma ran away during our date yesterday, and I was wondering if you've seen him."

"No, I thought he was still with you. Is he okay?" Worry seeped into his childlike voice.

"Si, si. I'm sure he is fine. Will you let me know if you see him?"

"Of course~!"

"Gracias, Italia."

"Ciao~!"

"Adiós."

He hung up the phone, smiling to himself. _Looks like fratello's little fidanzato misses him already. _He hummed happily to himself as he prepared breakfast and skipped to the basement room, plates in hand. He set them on he floor beside the bed.

"Boun giorno~! Are you hungry? I made plenty~!" Romano glared at him groggily from the bed. "Come on, fratello~ You're going to need your strength,"

"For what...?"

"You'll see~ Now say aaaah~" He held a fork in front of the other's mouth. Reluctantly, he took the bite, and Italy continued to spoonfeed his captive brother. When both their plates were cleared, he set the aside and pulled the knife from his pocket. Twiddling it between his fingers, he slowly approached the bed. Romano eyed the knife wearily, fear sparking in the back of his eyes. The tip of the knife traced his jawline and he instinctively turned his head away.

"B-bastardo, what are you doing?"

"Playing with my fratello~" Italy replied happily and used the blade to pop the buttons from the others shirt, letting it fall open. His eyes scanned the newly revealed skin, unaware of the blush of anger and embarrassment that coloured the other's face. Slowly and steadily, he brought the knife down just above Romano's heart. The fear nation squirmed, squeaking in pain as it broke the surface of his skin. The blade traveled down, leaving a trail of crimson in it's wake that stopped at the top of his stomach and made a large loop around his side to at the hem of his pants.

"S-stop! Stop it!" he cried out.

"Why?" Italy tilted his head curiously.

"Because it hurts!"

"What? This?" He asked, shoving an inch of the knife into the Romano's stomach at his bellybutton, twisting it harshly and eliciting a scream of agony from it's recipient. The captive Italian struggled fruitlessly against his bindings. Italy's happy smile twisted into something sadistic and menacing at the sight of so much pain being inflicted from such a simple movement. He straddled his brother's legs to keep him from kicking out, placing his whole weight upon him. He pushed the knife in another half inch, relishing the sound escaping the other's mouth.

"Your screams are so beautiful, Roma~ They're like music to a deaf man's ears~"

"B-bast-tardo,"

"Language! Really, I ought to cut the tongue from your mouth! Talking like that!" He exclaimed teasingly. Pulling the blade free, he waved it before the other's paling face, which only blanched further at the words. Romano quickly shut his mouth tight. This made Italy chuckle and pull back the knife to continue his line and looping motion across the bare chest, pushing the blade deeper as the loops got smaller and the lines moved further right. He relished in each pain filled wince, gasp, and whimper. _Such beautiful sounds! What wonderful music! _He hummed brightly in time to his work.

For Romano, minutes had stretched to hours, and the hours felt to be compressed into seconds. Seconds were days, and years passed in weeks. The icy blade seemed to slice his every nerve with a deadly precision. It scrapped raw his tattered flesh, until all that was left of his torso was a bloody mess of his brother's twisted mind. From his heart poured a waterfall blood, that emptied itself into raging whirlpool of liquid red gold. Above the twisting mass, a woman hung from the branch of an apple tree. Her arm was outstretched, as if to catch hold of something that had fallen to the water's, but from the expression of pain and longing carved across her face, you knew it was already gone.

Italy surveyed the grotesquely beautiful image with pride. The happiness that shone in in his amber eyes genuine. His lips curled into a twisted smile of joy. Joy that had come from the pain of another. Not just any other, but his other half. His flesh, blood, and land. The metallic crimson that stained his blade had never looked so lustrous as they did in this dim cellar room.

"You should be happy, Roma. You're the canvas of my best work yet!"

Romano merely whimpered weakly, biting his tongue against the many curses that flew through his mind. He would have loved nothing more than to shout them at the other- shove them down his throat like knives of his own- but he couldn't afford the energy it would take to raise his voice. Besides, who knew how serious Italy had been earlier with the threat of cutting out his tongue. Much to his relief, his brother and captor left without a word, leaving him alone in his cement prison to sleep off his wounds.

While Romano slept, Italy was making his way North through Europe. After the experience this morning, he was filled with emotion. Happiness, pride, love, had all swelled within him,... but not for long. The feelings passed, leaving him hallow and yearning to be filled again. Now, the only thought that in his mind as he took a taxi through the snowy streets towards his destination was: _I need a larger canvas._


	4. Chapter 4

Italy knocked on the old, ornate wood door, kicking snow off his shoes. As he waited for the door to open, he fidgeted nervously. Whether he was simply in character or nervous about what he was trying to attempt he wasn't quite sure. If it wasn't for the familiar feel of the knife in his back pocket, he might have turned around and called it off. _No. I've come too far and can't stop now. I can't go back to the way things were. _The door opened, braking off his train of thought as gazed up at the cold violet eyes looming over him.

"Da~?" A childlike voice came, unbefitting of the malevolence it held.

"C-ciao, Mr. R-russia," Italy stuttered.

"Zdorovat'sya, Italiya. Vhat are you doing here?"

"M-my boss sent me..."

"Come in," Russia waved him inside. Italy stepped slowly into the house, the smell of alcohol sweeping over him as he moved closer to the Russian. Italy crinkled his nose, but said nothing. It was well know that Russia was a drinker.

A firm hand landed on his shoulder, making him jump. He hadn't noticed the door shutting, nor the approach of the large man behind him. Russia ushered him into an adjoined room with several antique chairs and a plush love seat facing a white marble fireplace that took up half the wall. Russia took the larger seat, while Italy perched himself on one on the chairs, choosing the one furthest from his host. He avoided looking too long at his counterpart, every few seconds turning his gaze between him and the fire.

"Vhy vere you sent?"

"My boss said we were sup-posed to t-talk. Become...f-friendly." Russia nodded in response and Italy shifted uncomfortably. "...Can I have a drink?"

"Da," Russia stood and left the room, not making a sound. _He's quiet for his size. _Italy observed and shift to take in the rest of the room. There was an iron poker by the fireplace and what seemed like hundreds of decorative eggs on the mantle. There were several several empty bottles lying on the floor by the love seat, each roughly the size of a two liter of soda. Russia came back a minute later with two similar bottles and a shot glass that he set in front of his guest before returning to his seat with his own bottle. Italy poured his drink and sipped at it as an awkward silence fell over the two. A half an hour passed without a word. Tired by the silence, Italy stood.

"I need to use the bathroom," Italy slurred, pretending to be drunker than he was.

"First door on your right."

He nodded and headed down the hall. During their half hour of silence, Italy had formulated a plan. He drug his feet to the bathroom, opened and closed the door, but didn't go inside. Instead, he turned back down the hall, moving as silently as a ghost. Crouching low, he hid his shadow and approached the back of the love seat upon which his host was seated. He pulled the knife from his pocket and brought it up slowly towards the target's throat. As he swung it down on it's mark, he flipped it upon. The knife made a small click as the blade popped out, only inches from it's mark. That small sound was all that was needed. Russia had heard the sound and on instinct swung out of the way. The knife sunk into the couch as its would-be victim rolled to the floor. Italy tried to pull the blade free, but a lead pipe slammed down on his wrist. There was a loud SNAP and his hand hung limp. From the the corner of his eyes, he saw the pipe coming towards him once more, this time aimed at his head. He dived out of the way and scrabbled to his feet, dodging another blow as he ran to the fireplace. Grabbing the poker with his good hand, Italy spun to face his opponent head on.

The Russian smiled happily, holding his pipe in a careless grip."You surprised me, little malchuk. I did not think it vas in you."

"Oh, I'm full of surprises," He growled. In an instant, Italy sprung forward and stabbed the poker in Russia's stomach. However, He had sensed the attacked coming and managed to dodge so it only grazed his side. The pipe slammed down on Italy's back, forcing him to the ground. He rolled to the side as it stuck the floor where his head had just been, sending splinters flying through the air. He jabbed again towards his opponent, sending the point through Russia's ankle. It sank in past the hook of the pointer, jutting out the other side. Quick as it went in, he pulled it out, ripping a wide gap where the achilles tendon had been. Russia's leg gave out, and he fell to the ground with a cry. Italy's lips curled into a smirk as he regained his feet. He held his weapon high over his head to bring it down upon The larger man's chest, but before he could follow though with his strike, something whisked him off his feet. He landed hard on the ground and the poker skidded from his grasp across the room. A large weight crashed into his side, causing a spray of warm red to burst from his mouth in a choked gasp.

"You think me veak, but you should not underestimate your opponent. It gets you hurt." He slammed the pipe down again. "It gets you killed." Again. Italy couldn't catch his breathe. He only just managed to stay conscious. Now, as Russia prepared to deal him the killing blow, Italy threw his arm around, aiming a gun at the man's head.

"You should take your own advice." A shot rang out, and Russia fell to the floor. Italy slowly regained his feet, trying to ignore the pain in his side. _Four broken ribs, definite internal bleeding and ruptured organs, plus my shattered wrist. Bastardo can put up a fight. If I were human, I'd be dead right now. _He thought as he looked over his new kill.

Blood leaked from a hole roughly the size of a dime in the Russian's forehead, and when Italy rolled him over, you could see the damage to the back of his head. Or rather, what had once been the back of his head. Bits of skull and brain matter were spattered across the floor and furniture, Some blood that landed to close to the fire sizzled on the once white marble. Italy picked up a fragment of skull from the floor. Skin and hair still clung to the thin piece of bone, matted with blood. Carelessly, he through the fragment to the flame, watching the fire flare up in a brilliant blue. A twisted grin split his face. From his healing lungs, a dry chuckle bubbled up. The chuckle grew and Italy through back his head in full, roaring laughter. It eventually died off to snicker as Italy's eyes fell on the body of the Russian, hi lips curling into a sadistic smirk.

"I knew you'd be fun."

**I am SOOOOOOOOOOO sorry for not updating in so long! And for the unreasonably short chapters. **_**And **_**the terrible writing. **_**Aaaaaaaaand **_**the author's note. I've been really busy lately, BUT I SHOULD HAVE MADE TIME! Honestly, I'm a terrible person. *sighs* Anyways. I wanted to say congratulations to Neppi-chan for correctly guessing the victim! You get a cookie! (^u^)/* I absolutely love all the reviews! (I say that like I get a lot) Truth be told, there's really only one major event for this story I have planned out in my head, so if there's anything you want to see happen, just let me know. It can be a character that gets killed, how a character is killed, who/how Italy gets found out, a random one liner, I DON'T CARE! I just really love all your guys' input! Anyways, hyper people need sleep or they'll blow up the world. **_**Sadistic **_**hyper people will blow it up while hero-laughing their butts off and skipping from planet to planet. Buona notte~! **


	5. Chapter 5

The blade dipped in and out of his skin. Every now and then, whole chunks were torn away to reveal the red glisten of muscle beneath. Round and it went, like a macabre carousal. Thin pink lines connected crimson slashes, the knife never leaving his skin for longer than it took to stab it back down. Every new cut was met with a low groan of pain and an echoing giggle of delight. Deranged honey eyes met with defiant violet over the stained silver and snow of flesh. The blood was so thick that in the dim light of the room it looked nearly black, flowing down his body in torrents to join the ragged scraps of flesh that lay discarded on the cold cement floor.

Across his torso was a circle of children dressed in red rags, holding hands as they laid in the grass. Each face depicted a different emotion - sadness, joy, anger, content, guilt - and each wore the clothes of a different time.

Italy smiled down at his work, then turned his twisted grin to the man who hung on the wall before him.

"There, that wasn't so bad, now was it?" He was answered with a glob of of spit that landed on his cheek. I sat for only a moment before Italy wiped it on the mans scarf, ridding his face of its smile as well as the slime.

"And here I was, trying to be nice. Well, I'll just leave you to think about what you've done." Feli turned and left the room, stripping off his blood soaked shirt and placing it immediately in the wash. _It wasn't the same. Why didn't it feel like before? He's crys didn't effect me the way mio fratello's did. Why? _His mind sorted through it all, trying to figure out why he didn't feel the same pure pleasure with Ivan as he had with Romano.

He sighed and went to the kitchen lunch. Stirring a sauce that reminded him so much of the liquid staining his basement floor, he smiled. It really was such a beautifully delicious colour. He mummed to himself as he cooked.

Later that afternoon, he received another invitation from Germany, asking him over for dinner again that evening. He drove up to the modest brick house of his ally. The dining oom table was set with a white table clothe. Tall pillar candles burned next to the single white rose held in a blue bottle.

"Ve~ It's so pretty~!" He exclaimed.

"Italy, You're here."

"Ve~ Doitsu, it's so fancy~! And you're dressed so handsome~!" Italy smiled, turning round to see Germany standing in the archway. He was dressed in tailored suit pants and a crisp white button down that fit snugly on his well muscled body. A light blush tinted his cheeks at the compliment. He cleared his throat.

" look very nice also. Please, sit down and I'll go get the food." He said nervously.

"Okay!" Italy smiled wider and sat down while Germany went to the kitchen. He came back a minute later carrying two large plates laden with food. There was tuscan chicken with sundried tomatoes, grilled asparagus, and thick chunks of roasted red potatoes with rosemary and garlic.

"That looks delicious!" He exclaimed happily.

"Danke," he said again and they started eating. Everything tasted just as delicious as it looked. Halfway through the meal, Italy looked up?

"Ve, Doitsu?" Why are trying to be so fancy?"

Germany paused and stammered out. "I-I don't now vhat you're talking about."

"You''re dressed all nice, and made the table all pretty, and cooked really yummy food!"

"V-vell...zhere vas something I vanted to t-tell you..."

"What is it?" he asked curiously, tilting his head to the side. GErmany blushed and looked away.

"Vell...I...I-ich liebe dich." Italy blinked a couple times, then broke into a huge grin.

"Ve~ Ach'io ti amo!" Germany looked at him with eyes full of hope.

"Really?"

"Si! Of course I do!"

He smiled in relief. That smile grew larger until it was one of pure joy. He reached over the table and cupped both smiling cheeks and kissed him fiercely. Italy kissed him back passionately, fight with and against the crush of the German's lips. The kiss was broken as suddenly as it occurred. Both nations gazed at each other with faces flushed. The food between them lay forgotten as they both stood. Walking slowly around the table, their bodies met again. Germany lifted him carefully off his feet, cradling him in his arms. His kissed him again, softly, and carried him up the stairs. On the dining table below, the candles still burned, dripping pearls of wax onto soft red petals of velvet. Forgotten, but still there.

**((Hi everyone. I am really sorry about the delay posting this chapter. It was surprisingly hard to write, especially the end. I'm not quite sure what to do for the next chapter either. I figure I'll ask you guys, and from their it'll be majority rules. Unless the majority is made of idiots. In that case, I'll just pick the best one ^^ Shout outs to whoever can figure out the significance of Feli's carving on Ivan!))**


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